


Heat Wave Hypotheses

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Students, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: The weather is unbearable and magic is on the fritz. Draco Malfoy decides to hide out in Hermione Granger's dorm, whether she appreciates it or not.





	Heat Wave Hypotheses

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hello. Happy birthday to my lovely alpha and wonderful friend, Kyonomiko. A little piece of one of your favourite tropes on your birthday. I hope you enjoy xo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

 

* * *

It was a stifling, sweltering, unbearable sort of day. The relentless heat of the summer had swept into September, and into Hermione Granger's second year at the University of Oxford.

Following the completion of her eighth year at Hogwarts, Hermione had found herself at a loss. While Harry and Ron had begun the pursuit of their Aurorships, she had been anxious and restless – and hadn't been ready to settle into a mundane desk job at the Ministry, like everyone had expected.

And so she had completed her Muggle GCSEs and A Levels and submitted an application to Oxford. It had always been a dream of hers – and after hearing about the experiences her parents had had at University when she was young, it was something she had envisioned for herself for years. When she had been granted a full scholarship to attend the prestigious school, the dream had manifested itself as a viable path.

It was a bittersweet homage of sorts – despite the fact that her parents now lived an alternate existence in Australia and wouldn't even know if she completed a doctorate.

As it was, Hermione had enrolled in a mixed bag of classes that might come in useful one day in a magical career. Her first year had been enjoyable – the experience of going to school without the stress of possible death and dismemberment a welcome relief – and had carried on into another year.

She loved living on campus, despite the cramped quarters, and found Oxford to be especially beautiful this time of year.

With the exception of this severe, all-encompassing heat, which penetrated and lingered in the dormitories, despite the mechanical wonder that was air conditioning.

Hermione left her room in the hopes of finding some reprieve in the more spacious common area of the dormitory in which she was housed, and found the common room crawling with unfamiliar students.

"What's going on here?" she asked a first year undergrad student as she gazed upon the milling mass of students.

"The air conditioning is out in the next building," the young man said, his face pinched and tone terse as he attempted to read over the chaos. "So they've all come here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, even as she offered him an apologetic smile. "Thanks."

She wouldn't be finding any peace to work in this atmosphere, either. Sighing, Hermione turned to retreat to the heat of her room, when her eyes caught and narrowed on a flash of platinum blond.

Just her luck that Malfoy would live in the neighbouring dorm, too.

From the first time Hermione had run into the former-Slytherin, a few weeks into her first year, she had yet to understand what interest he could possibly have in attending a Muggle university.

The only explanation she could think of was a way to waste time and his father's precious galleons, without needing to pursue a meaningful career in the wizarding world.

And so to see him now, sitting in her common room with a group of students, left a bitter taste in her mouth.

His gaze caught hers before she left the room, and he raised a brow before turning back to his conversation. Huffing with irritation, Hermione returned to her room.

* * *

Despite the day shifting and flowing into evening, the abrasive and overwhelming heat persisted, creating a sort of permanent sense of cabin fever on the residents of Hermione's dorm – and when she took a break from her studying, there was a loud party going on in the common room.

Frowning, she went to the loo and then collected a tall glass of water from the kitchen before returning to her room.

The loud bass from the common room pounded through the walls and she scowled as she folded her legs on her bed, casting a  _Silencio_.

The sound continued. Hermione's brow furrowed as she cast the spell again; there was no familiar rush of magic channelled through her wand and she set it down, embarrassed.

It had been a while since she had used any substantial amount of magic, but that was no reason for her spell to fail.

She glanced up, startled, when the doorknob to her room jiggled and turned. She froze, her eyes wide, when Malfoy stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Rolling his eyes, he released an exaggerated sigh.

"Of course, this would be  _your_  room."

Hermione blinked, her mind a step behind, as he collapsed into the chair beside her bed.

"This  _is_  my room," she snipped, "so what are you doing here?"

"Same as you," Malfoy drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Trying to get some damn work done, and there's no way  _that's_ happening out there with that ungodly racket going on."

"There are plenty of other rooms," Hermione huffed, folding her arms. "Get out of mine."

"I'm not going into someone else's room," Malfoy said, as if it were obvious.

"Why are you even here?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "It isn't as if the lack of air conditioning should bother you when you've got a wand."

"Honestly, Granger," Malfoy said, snickering. "Magic's out, or have you seriously not noticed?"

Hermione blinked at him. "Magic's out? What do you mean?"

"I mean," he rolled his eyes, "this heat is wreaking havoc on the UK ley lines, and with the current position of the moon cycle, the magnetic power generated by the alignment is throwing all wielded magic into a stasis, and it can't push through."

"Ley lines," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "As in the alignment of ancient landmarks? That's possible?"

"Of course it's possible," Malfoy said, hesitating. "Only it's rare as hell, and hasn't occurred for hundreds of years. Do you honestly think I'd pass up the chance to have the entire dorm to myself if it weren't for the fact that the heat makes it intolerable?"

"I suppose not," she said, her shoulders sagging. "But that doesn't mean  _I_  want you in my room."

"You'll hardly notice I'm here," Malfoy snipped, drawing a book from his shoulder bag. Next he pulled out a small case and slipped a pair of glasses on. When Hermione snickered he shot her a glare. "They're for reading."

"Fine," Hermione said, scoffing. "But if you say  _one_  rude thing –"

"Because I've said  _so_  many rude things to you since we've both been at Oxford," he drawled.

Hermione froze, her eyes fixed on him. His grey eyes shifted to stare at her through his lenses, and while she considered his words she dropped back against her headboard.

Sensing her hesitation, Malfoy shook his head. "Times have changed, Granger. There was a war, and I know you didn't miss it. People grow up."

"Fine," she sighed. "Just… leave me alone if you insist on staying to read."

Malfoy adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his seat, crossing one ankle over the other knee. His expression was neutral and passive, and despite herself, Hermione glanced at the textbook he was reading.

"Why are you studying  _Anatomy and Physiology_?" she asked, scowling.

"Should I not?" Malfoy asked without skipping a beat, his gaze steadfast on the page. He finished the line and glanced up. "Should I be studying English Literature instead? Perhaps I should pursue an undergraduate degree in  _French_ , in which I am already fluent?"

" _Why_?" Hermione repeated, narrowing her eyes.

"Because I have an exam on Monday," he said, turning back to his reading. "And I'd like to be adequately prepared."

"Right," Hermione muttered, shaking her head. She drew a book from her nightstand and turned to the marked page, attempting to make progress and ignore Malfoy all the while.

After a time, the two of them fell into an unexpected but companionable silence, and when next Hermione glanced up at the sound of Malfoy rummaging through his bag, she was surprised by how much progress she had made.

"Have you got any food in here, Granger?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

"No," she raised a brow, "but there's a vending machine down the hall."

He wrinkled his nose, but plucked a few coins out of his bag and vanished from the room. Several minutes later he returned with his arms full of assorted crisps, candy bars and bottled drinks.

"I didn't know what you liked," he said when Hermione snickered. "This isn't all for me. In fact, I'd prefer some nice vegetables, but if this is our only option."

"Thanks," she said, chastened, as she selected a bag of crisps. As she crunched one, she stared at him while he settled himself into the chair once more and drew a notebook and pen from his bag.

It was so jarring to see Malfoy without a quill and parchment that she nearly forgot what she was about to say.

"Spit it out, Granger," he said as he glanced at her, his lips tugging into a smirk.

"Why are you studying such complicated material?" Hermione asked, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. "What sort of a degree are you pursuing?"

"Because you think I'm only here to waste time and money," he drawled, releasing the cap from a bottle of water. "I can see it on your face, every time I come across you on campus."

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. "That was my consideration, I suppose."

"It's more about what I intend to do  _after_  I complete my schooling here," Malfoy said, scrawling a header at the top of his page. "I'm not sure whether I'll complete a degree or not. But I intend to become a healer, and there has, historically, been a vast divide with regards to the correlation between magical healing and Muggle medicine."

Hermione blinked, a breath catching in her throat.

"The majority of healers," he continued, nonplussed, "don't even understand basic anatomy. Not everything can  _or should be_  healed with magic. Potions and salves, of course, are more advanced than most Muggle pharmaceuticals, but the healing curriculum is devoid of even the most simplistic knowledge of physiology. I intend to change that."

"That's…" she trailed off. "Interesting."

"Not what you were expecting," Malfoy said, jotting down a few bullet point notes on his page.

"No," she confessed.

"And what are  _you_  studying?" he asked, glancing up at her over the top of his lenses. "All the classes about saving the world, no doubt?"

"I haven't declared yet," she said, frowning. "History, botany, politics –" she glanced at him, her lips twitching, "English literature."

"Sounds dry," he said with a shrug. "But to each their own."

Hermione huffed, returning to her book.

"I always figured you would make a good scientific type," Malfoy said, gazing at her again. "Biology, chemistry. You've got the brain for it." He snickered, turning back to his page. "Although English literature  _doesn't_  surprise me."

"There is an extensive catalogue of incredible literature out there," Hermione hissed, indignant on behalf of her books.

Malfoy only shrugged and said, "I don't disagree."

"I'm taking biology as well," she sniffed. "It's quite enjoyable."

"We must not be in the same class," he replied. "And by the way, Granger, that was a compliment."

Hermione blinked at him, hesitant. "I must not have recognized the sentiment, coming from you."

"Yes, understood, spent eight years being an arse," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "Is it so outlandish to believe that I might like to leave the past where it belongs?"

"Suppose I missed the memo," Hermione said, though the ire was lacking from her tone.

"Fine," Malfoy sighed, setting down his pen. "Granger, I apologize for the way I treated you at Hogwarts. I apologize that I was indoctrinated into the cause of a maniacal tyrant from birth, and I took that out on you."

Hermione's eyes widened on a sharp intake of breath. She choked, "Thanks, Malfoy."

"I know," he drawled, "it's hard to believe that I might want to change the image of my familial name. That I might have cause to fancy a fresh start, wherein I'm not known as the scourge of a society, but rather, a benefactor. And in case you were still curious,  _that's_  why I want to become a healer."

She gaped at him, and could only manage a feeble, "Okay." She cleared her throat as he snickered, shaking his head, and continued. "For what it's worth, Malfoy, that's respectable of you."

"Thanks, Granger." He shrugged. "And while we're being  _honest_ , I always sort of admired your tenacity. Especially coming into a world in which you were so unfamiliar, and then you proceeded to kick everyone's arse in classes."

"Are you  _sure_  you're Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked, peering closely at him, even as she offered him a tentative smile.

"Told you, Granger, I've made an effort at growing up." He rose and walked to the window, sliding open the sash and recoiling with a grimace. "It's still ridiculous out there."

She glanced behind her to look out the window, surprised to see that night had fallen. As if on cue, she gave a wide yawn. "I'm going to turn in, so you're going to have to find someone else's room to study in."

"I'm not going to make much more progress at this point. I'll just sleep here." He flashed her a grin. "Plenty of room."

"Not a chance," Hermione clipped, scowling.

"I won't be able to sleep in this heat in my own dormitory," he said, gesturing with a hand. "And I've got class in the morning."

"That's not my problem," Hermione said, shaking her head. "You'll have to sleep in the common room, then."

"They'll be partying until the middle of the night," he scoffed. "It's not like I'm going to try anything."

Hermione rolled her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line. "There might be some extra blankets and pillows in the closet; you can make a bed on the floor."

"The floor," Malfoy repeated, raising a brow as he removed his glasses and tucked them back in their case. "I'm not sleeping on the fucking floor."

"Then you'll find somewhere else," she said with a dismissive shrug. "Or you can sleep in that chair. Because you aren't sleeping in my bed."

"The lumbar catastrophe," he breathed, affronted, burying his face in one hand. "I can't sleep while sitting upright."

Hermione lowered her chin and raised a brow; there would be no further sympathy.

Huffing, he rose from the chair and shoved it against the wall, then shuffled through her closet and returned with several thick blankets and pillows, which he arranged into a poor substitute for a proper mattress, looking dissatisfied with the result. He cast Hermione a stare, his eyes wide and brow furrowed.

"Don't give me that look," she hissed, narrowing her eyes. "And mind, you'll be staying proper, thank you."

"I sleep in my shorts." He shrugged, the corners of his lips tugging upward.

"Tonight you won't," Hermione snapped. "And for that matter, please leave the room while I change."

Malfoy scoffed but did as she requested without complaint. A minute later, Hermione knocked on the door and he walked back inside. Frowning, she shoved a shirt that was too large for her at him and he accepted it with a grin.

She averted her gaze with haste when he began stripping down without warning.

Then she hurried to flip off the lights, all too aware of Malfoy's gaze on her bare legs beneath her sleep shorts.

He grumbled as he settled onto his makeshift bed of blankets; Hermione did her level best to ignore him.

* * *

The cold silver light of the moon was filtering in through the curtains on the window and Hermione suspected the air had finally cooled off, but Malfoy had fallen silent on the floor some time ago and there was no sense in disturbing him now.

"Granger," he asked. "Are you still awake?"

"Yes," she whispered into the inky darkness. "What is it?"

"You wouldn't believe how uncomfortable your floor is."

"You're free to leave," Hermione said as she rolled onto her side away from him.

"Trade me," he said. "I'll sleep in your bed –"

"No," she snapped. "Now go to sleep. I've got class tomorrow, too."

There was a significant amount of fluffing and huffing as Malfoy tried to make himself comfortable; Hermione rolled her eyes and wondered how she had allowed this to happen.

She had just shut her eyes when he grumbled, "This floor is worse than Azkaban."

Abruptly, she flipped onto her back, staring up at the light fixture, faint in the darkness. She took several careful breaths, recalling how Malfoy had spent the summer after the war in prison awaiting his sentencing.

Despite herself and the call of sleep, Hermione asked, "What was Azkaban like?"

There was silence, and she wondered if he wasn't going to answer – if she had, perhaps, crossed some line between them that he had managed to skirt around when asking her to share her bed with him.

But then he sighed. "It was abysmal, Granger."

She heard him shifting again but couldn't bring herself to look away from the light fixture.

"After the Dementors left," Malfoy continued on a quiet breath, "the guards took it upon themselves to be worse. They liked to target me, because of who my father is – but when I didn't rise to their bait, they lost interest."

Her gaze flickered in his direction, and she could see him sitting up against the wall; slashes of moonlight through the window lit up one side of his face.

"You were released for eighth year, right?" she asked, curious despite herself.

"It was one specific factor of my release," he said, nodding. "I couldn't miss a single class without good reason, my magic was restricted outside of classes, I needed to maintain a certain level of performance… it was still better than being locked in a cage."

"I can imagine," Hermione breathed, her voice coming out with the faintest hint of a tremble. She hoped he hadn't noticed.

"The  _only_  good thing about it," Malfoy said, glancing at the window, "was that, since I was a low security prisoner, I was allowed access to books. Mind you, it was a ratty old collection that took up half of one shelf and several of them were in Spanish. But the rest…" he trailed off, his gaze flickering to meet hers. "There were a few medical textbooks."

"That's where you learned about the discrepancies between medicine and healing," she surmised.

He nodded. "It baffled me to realize that I wanted to pursue a profession and I didn't even understand the physical basis of it. I spoke to a handful of healers while I was arranging the Muggle requirements I needed to apply at Oxford, and I couldn't believe it."

"It's interesting," Hermione mused, "that you're so dedicated to healing."

His tone was droll as he asked, "Don't you think I've done enough  _harm_ , Granger?"

She caught his gaze again; the cold light danced across the grey in his irises.

"Will you be allowed to enter the healing program with a criminal record?" she asked, worrying her lower lip.

"I'd already enrolled in healer training," Malfoy said, his shoulders shifting as he shrugged against the wall. "When I decided to take some medical courses instead. Mungo's wasn't thrilled to admit me, especially knowing I'd been in Azkaban so recently, but they couldn't refuse my NEWT scores."

"I suppose," Hermione frowned. She didn't know whether NEWT scores were the only qualification that mattered. "Maybe they just wanted to give you a second chance."

"Not many people are interested in giving me a second chance, Granger. Take you, for example," he gestured with a hand. "You haven't spoken to me in years, but you still had me all figured out."

"I didn't realize you were making an effort to change," she contradicted, even as she felt her cheeks grow warm. Her voice dropped as she said, "Because I didn't want to give you a second chance."

"It's fine," he muttered. "But that attitude is indicative of most of the wizarding world, for the record. I dug that hole for myself – so I fully expect it. It just means it'll be more of an uphill climb to affect change than anyone else would face in my position."

He shifted again, moving the blankets and pillows upon which he had been attempting to sleep, and laid down atop them.

Hermione sighed, cursing herself. "You can sleep up here, Malfoy. But nothing inappropriate."

His eyes snapped open. "Inappropriate?"

"Yes," she snipped. "For instance, you'll stay well to your side. And you'll use a separate blanket."

"Thank Merlin," Malfoy grumbled, standing and moving around the bed to the other side.

The instant he laid down, his eyes fixed on hers, Hermione regretted the offer. Despite that he was on the other side of the bed, mindful of the boundaries she had imposed, it felt far too intimate. This close, she could see the silver sparkles in his eyes, the furrow on his brow, the curve of his lips.

His mouth tugged into a smirk as he made himself comfortable. "Thanks, Granger."

"You're welcome," she whispered, rolling onto her back once more. "Try not to snore."

"I don't snore," Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes. "So why are you here at Oxford, when you could have had your choice of any job at the Ministry?"

Hermione fidgeted with her covers; he had been honest enough with his answers that he deserved the same in return.

"I didn't know what I wanted to do," she admitted. "My parents met at University, and I guess it was always something I'd dreamed of, before I got my Hogwarts letter. When I was accepted into Oxford on a scholarship, it gave me another option while I tried to sort everything out after the war."

"I imagine your parents are proud," he said, rolling onto his side to face her.

"They don't know," Hermione said, shaking her head. "They live in Australia."

"So?" he asked, making a face. "You didn't send them a letter?"

Hermione sighed. "They don't remember me. I modified their memories during the war so they wouldn't be targeted."

A heavy tension fell in the space between them, and Malfoy's gaze darted to the wall behind her. "I'm sorry, Granger."

"I've come to terms with it," she breathed. "It hurts, to have lost them, but it would be worse to know that they had been killed. They've set up a dental practice in Brisbane, and they enjoy it there."

Malfoy let out a long breath and shook his head. "That must have been difficult. Sometimes when we were younger, I wondered why you hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw, but then I hear stories like that and it makes sense."

Hermione wasn't sure whether that was meant to be a compliment so she didn't say anything.

"You know, Granger," he said, his gaze meeting hers again. She shifted to face him. "I was always sort of intimidated by you. You were  _so_  smart, and you were best friends with Potter, and you always seemed to have everything together. And to top it off, you were Muggle-born – and I had always been taught that Muggle-borns were inherently inferior. But then I saw you –"

He chuckled. "The summer after first year, I told my father I thought he had been wrong about Muggle-borns, because there was this pretty girl who was top of all our classes, and  _she_  was Muggle-born."

"You said that?" Hermione asked, a tight breath catching in her throat. She snickered, despite the levity of the moment. "I can't imagine Lucius cared for that."

"Oh no," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "He yelled at me, told me all Muggle-borns are Mudbloods and that if your grades were better than mine by the end of second year I'd hear about it… Of course, your grades were always better than mine."

A wry smile curved his lips, and Hermione found herself staring. "You actually told your father you thought I was pretty? You made fun of my hair, my teeth –"

He rolled his eyes. "I was young. And yes, I did. Because you were.  _Are_."

"Thanks," Hermione said, glancing away.

"He hated that, too," Malfoy snickered, saving her from the tension of his words. "Of course, Malfoys take no interest in females of inferior blood status, you know."

"Of course," she whispered. Despite her instincts screaming at her, she asked, "Is that something else you're changing about the reputation of your name?"

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on hers. "That'll depend on the girl, I suppose. I've been focused on my courses for the most part."

"Right," Hermione said, warm embarrassment rising in her face.

"But," he continued, "I won't say I'm opposed. If I met the right person, I don't think it would matter anymore what her blood status is. I'd sooner marry someone I care about, than someone who will offer political or societal status."

Hermione nodded, perhaps too emphatically.

"You?" he asked, rolling onto his back. "Some wealthy Muggle heir here at Oxford swept you off your feet yet?"

"If they had, you wouldn't be in my bed," she pointed out.

He chuckled. "Fair point." He shifted and she felt some angle of him nudge against her, through the two layers of blankets that separated them. She raised an eyebrow and he smirked.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione held her ground as he nudged her again, the smirk broadening into a crooked grin. Despite the twist in her stomach, she huffed and asked, "Are you through?"

Malfoy shrugged, his eyes sparkling. "Maybe."

"I thought you had class in the morning?" she asked.

"I do," he agreed. "But I'm already ahead of the content that will be covered."

"Regardless," Hermione said, with her best attempt at flippancy, " _I_  have an important class I can't miss."

"You'll have to try and get some sleep, then," Malfoy said; there was a challenge in his face and she shook her head.

"If you'd let me." She jabbed at him with an elbow through the blankets.

"If it's so important," he breathed, his eyes meeting hers, "you'll just have to ignore me and sleep." He poked her in the ribs through the blankets and she released a sharp gasp as he hit a ticklish spot.

She grabbed at his hand from within her cocoon and held it away so he couldn't tickle her again.

"Holding my hand, Granger?" he teased, "I never knew you cared so much."

"I don't," she hissed, releasing his hand. At some point in the exchange her blanket had come loose from beneath her, and through the opening she shoved at his shoulder, still covered in his own blanket. "You aren't on your side."

"Actually, I am," he corrected. " _You_  are the one who has left your side." He dislodged an arm from beneath the blankets and grabbed hold of her wrist; he couldn't seem to decide whether he was going to push her away or not.

Hermione snatched her hand back from his grasp; the heat of his hand on her skin was disconcerting. She shifted away from the centre of the bed and rolled onto her back in an attempt to ignore him.

But she could feel the heat from his stare and she wasn't certain what had just happened.

Malfoy rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his arms freed from his blanket and hanging by his sides.

"I don't trust you," Hermione said, glancing sidelong at him, "to leave me alone and let me sleep."

"Why's that?" he asked, his head rolling to face her with a cocky grin. "Because now I know you're ticklish?"

Hermione scowled, securing her blanket around her sides again. Malfoy shrugged beside her, wiggling his fingers as his brows flickered in a threatening manner.

She growled, "Don't you dare."

"Or what?"

Her eyes narrowed again, and she pressed her lips into a tight line. "Or I'll seek revenge."

He caught his lower lip between his teeth and asked, "How?"

"You won't know until it's too late," she whispered, her expression ominous.

Malfoy barked a laugh and grinned. "I'm willing to take my chances."

In a sudden movement that caught Hermione off guard, he threw the blanket loose from his upper body and reached out, catching her ribs through the blanket with his hands. She flailed and tried to dislodge him, reaching out from beneath her blanket to catch his wrists and hold them away.

Panting, she glared at him as he grinned from too close against her side, his hands imprisoned within hers. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and he said, "Kinky, Granger. Didn't know you had it in you."

She scowled but didn't release his wrists, even as she shoved them away from her mid-section. Her blanket had become fully twisted, and a hint of skin below the hem of her sleep shorts was showing. Malfoy's gaze flickered to her legs before he looked at her again, his expression innocent.

"Hands  _and_  eyes to yourself, Malfoy," she hissed.

"If that's what you want," he clipped. She blinked at him, realizing how close his face had become as she attempted to move him back to his side of the bed. His wrists still hung in her loosened grasp.

Thrown by his statement, Hermione dropped her guard and he freed his wrists, catching both of hers in one of his hands instead.

Hermione gaped, her mind reeling at the turn of events.

Malfoy grinned, his eyelids heavy. "What now, Granger?"

His hand was warm on her skin; her blankets were nearly kicked off, and he was only covered from the waist down. She was on her side, facing him, close enough that she could feel the puffs of air from his breath.

Her mouth felt dry; she forced herself to swallow, and released a shuddering breath.

Malfoy was still staring at her, his expression patient, the curve of his lips tugged into a smile. His thumb stroked the back of one of her wrists and he tugged her hands closer to his chest.

She managed to whisper, "What are you doing?"

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Waiting for you to push me away – or not."

Hermione's eyes flickered to his lips and then met his gaze; there was something in his eyes that stirred something in her core and left her feeling restless.

She toed off the remains of her blanket and shifted closer, tugging her wrists from his grasp.

Then without warning she grabbed his face and pressed her lips against his. In an instant, he caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against him, kissing her in return. She kissed him harder, catching his lower lip between her teeth and his tongue swept out against hers.

A soft whimper escaped her throat as his fingers gripped tighter to her waist, finding her bare skin and her hands slid back into his hair, her tongue meeting his with a sort of lazy indulgence.

Malfoy kicked off the last of his covers and Hermione entangled her legs with his, wrapping one around his hip as he tugged her closer still. He kissed her in a meticulous, thorough fashion, as if he had all night; her core clenched tightly and he chuckled against her lips as her hands grazed his shoulders and she pressed against him.

He pulled away, grazing the line of her jaw with his teeth as he buried one hand in her hair. He muttered against her skin, "I thought you wanted to sleep."

Hermione gaped, even as she exposed the column of her throat to his lips and tongue. She managed a half-hearted, "Right."

One of his hands grazed the back of her thigh as it rested against his side; she moaned at the feel of his hand on her skin even as he rearranged her leg beside his. He swept her hair out of the way when she pulled him closer for another kiss, softer this time.

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear when he drew back, an enigmatic smile on his features. "Sleep isn't going to happen if you keep grinding against me."

"Sorry," she whispered, giving him a sheepish smile.

He kissed her again, murmuring against her lips, "Don't apologize."

"Another time," she breathed, attempting to steady her racing heart. Malfoy hummed against her throat as he pulled her against him, her back to his chest, one arm around her stomach.

"Another time," he agreed, "when we don't have class in –" he glanced at the bedside clock "– four hours."

Hermione groaned, sinking into him when he tugged one blanket over the two of them. She echoed, " _Four hours_."

He laughed. "Thanks for putting me up in your room, Granger."

"You didn't exactly give me a choice," she reminded him, even as her lips tugged into a smile. He pressed a kiss against her jaw. "I can't believe you randomly stumbled across my room."

Malfoy didn't respond for a moment, his fingers playing about the skin of her stomach. "It wasn't random. I saw you walk in here earlier."

Hermione's eyes widened and she spun in his grasp, scowling. "You planned this!"

"No," he said, blinking. "I just wanted a chance to talk to you.  _This_  worked out way better than I ever could have hoped."

He gave her a sly gin, one hand sliding down to squeeze her arse.

And before she could open her mouth to respond, he cut her off with a kiss.


End file.
